


Kiss A Ginger

by SiwgrGalon



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Slice of Life, Snow, fun holidays, mcpriceley, probably self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 03:35:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9302423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiwgrGalon/pseuds/SiwgrGalon
Summary: It's an international day of celebration, so what better way than to treat the one you love?‘You’ll be late for work,’ he murmurs, voice muffled by the fact that his head is turned into his pillow.‘Nope.’A kiss to his neckline, before Kevin nuzzles his hair.‘Surprise, I’ve got the day off.’





	

Kevin Price has possibly the world’s most annoying, piercing alarm, Connor thinks. At least at 5 in the morning, when Connor has been home for maybe six hours, and asleep for a maximum of five.

He grumbles into the pillow until the other man switches off the ear-piercing noise, but starts in sleepy surprise when an arm slings around his middle, drawing the redhead into a warm chest.

‘Sorry.’

Connor feels Kevin’s lips more than he actually hears him speak, the movement a light tickle against his shoulder.

‘You’ll be late for work,’ he murmurs, voice muffled by the fact that his head is turned into his pillow.

‘Nope.’

A kiss to his neckline, before Kevin nuzzles his hair.

‘Surprise, I’ve got the day off.’

He sounds as drowsy as Connor feels, and so McKinley just hums deep in his throat, enjoying the answering hum, and settles into the embrace.

//////////

Connor wakes to an empty bed. To an empty apartment, by the sound - or rather lack of sound - of it.

Normally, that’d make him suspicious, because Kevin is rarely _really_ quiet. While Connor tends to sing or hum or do silly dance steps - or combine two of those - Kevin seems to have a basic level of noise about him. Like rustling paper, or clattering plates, or slightly-too-loud steps, or the low groan of their sofa when someone sits down. There’s nearly always sound around Kevin, which is why they fit so well; when they’re together, Connor tends to be his sound.

It’s comforting and home-y and, right now, very much absent.

Maybe this morning was all just a dream, or wishful thinking. It’s not like they don’t see each other, but Kevin’s early shifts are always a bit of a bummer. It means they often only get to see each other for an hour or so before Connor dashes off to the theater, and for a few minutes when Connor comes home after the show and sneaks into bed.

Maybe Kevin isn’t off work, after all. It’s plausible enough; Connor's imagination has always been very vivid, and considering he had been more than half asleep...

A glance at his watch reveals it’s only eight, so he stretches, enjoys the way his back pops, and turns onto his other side. Might as well sleep some more.

Something heavy lands next to him with a nearly soundless thud. Opening one eye, Connor spots a grey tabby sitting on the duvet, staring intently.

‘You’re not supposed to be on the bed, Elphie,’ he says, trying to make his voice sound somewhat authorative.

‘Or in here, in general.’

Elphie - short for Elphaba, what else, although it was Kevin who chose the name - blinks, slowly, but doesn’t move otherwise. With a slightly resigned sigh, Connor pats the space next to him. As if she had been waiting the cat daintly walks over, surveys her human and then curls up against his warm stomach.

‘At least we taught you some manners.’

Gently carding his fingers through Elphie’s soft fur, Connor falls back asleep, content and warm and maybe dreaming of Kevin.

////////

‘Shoo, Elphie, you’re not supposed to be in he… oh, not you, too, Shakespeare.’

Kevin’s exasperated sigh is followed by a heavy thump and the soft pattering of cat's paws on the duvet. At this point, Connor is definitely awake. He still refuses to open his eyes, although he can feel the winter sun tickle his nose, and just basks in the warmth of their bed.

That extra-large duvet was definitely one of the best purchases ever.

The mattress dips again, this time under a far heavier weight, and Kevin’s familiar scent fills his nose.

‘Wakey, wakey, your Highness,’ Kevin says, fondness evident in his voice, and a second later he presses a kiss to Connor’s temple.

‘Your cats are being little brats.’

Burrowing deeper into the pillow, Connor cracks one eye open and blinks at Kevin.

‘How come when they’re misbehaving they’re mine?’

‘Because, my love, I’m obviously the far stricter parent, thus I teach them manners and you spoil them and turn them into little monsters.’

The redhead just chortles, before finally opening both eyes to face reality. As he languidly stretches, his joints cracking and popping, he looks at Kevin.

At Kevin, who definitely left the house already, because he's dressed and his eyes are shining with mirth and he smells a bit like fresh snow and crisp winter air.

Kevin, who bends over to the side and produces their lap tray, laden with breakfast, and then leans over to the other side and kisses Connor. Deeply. If it was supposed to be innocent, they both fail.

‘What brings me to this honor?’

‘I just wanted to serve my husband breakfast in bed, really.’

Now Connor _does_ grow suspicious, because Kevin sounds far too innocent for it to be just a gesture of goodwill.

‘Well, normally when that happens, I also happen to be the breakfast, so… .’

‘Oh, Connor, don’t be disgusting!’

Kevin really isn’t serious, if the giggle is anything to go by, but Connor still can’t help teasing a little. He likes to have the last word, it’s not a secret. Never has been, even in Uganda, when he was supposed to be a proper Mormon. And proper Mormons definitely don't talk back.

‘That’s not what you said last time.’

An eyeroll, but Kevin shuts up. For all but a minute, because then Connor's dork of a husband is carefully pushing the breakfast into his direction.

‘Scoot over a little,’ he says, and the redhead does - much to the dismay of Elphie and her companion, a jetblack tomcat with a white chest and a white mark on his head, who meows protestingly.

‘Oh, shut up, Shakespeare,’ Connor grumbles good-naturedly; he still pets Shakespeare, apologetically, and the purr his actions earn make his heart swell a little.

On his other side, Kevin stretches out and slings an arm around Connor’s shoulder to draw him in close.

‘I still think we should’ve named him Stalin,’ he muses as he pulls the tray closer.

‘He’s got all the characteristics to make an excellent dictator.’

Connor just rolls his eyes but can’t keep in the giggle.

‘I think we’re beyond the “making” phase, Kevin. He’s got us wrapped around his little paws.’

‘No, he’s got you wrapped around his paws. I’m the responsible parent here,’ comes the reply.

The newsroom has really tuned Kevin’s already sharp mind; Connor is enjoying it, big time.

‘I thought we wouldn’t refer to them as our kids?’

‘They’re not,’ Kevin says, turning to look at him while reaching for a plate of pancakes.

‘They’re cats, obviously. But we’re still their parents, duh.’

It’s the famous Price logic, indeed, but Connor doesn’t dare dispute it - partly because he finds it rather cute, but also because he can’t really disagree with Kevin - so he just lets it go and takes a piece of pancake.

They’re delicious; soft and fluffy, and he hums in surprised delight when he bites onto a blueberry, the tart flavor a welcome surprise.

Kevin has always been a good cook. They both have, no thanks to their mothers, and it’s only gotten better over the years. But somehow this tastes extra special.

It’s probably because breakfast in bed is a rare luxury. Actual, edible breakfast, that is, and not their commonly used code for morning sex - because, according to Kevin, they ‘can’t say it in front of the children’. And maybe, just maybe, that’s a sign that he’s taking it too far. Especially since it’s only morning-just-woke-up-but-I-want-you-now-sex, and Kevin has no problems recounting fantasies at any other time of day.

‘Those are really good,’ Connor praises between bites. Next to him, Kevin preens, before expressing his thanks.

The rest passes in comfortable silence, and once they’re finished, Connor uses the opportunity to cuddle up and just soak in the moment. With the tray cleared away, Elphie and Shakespeare wander over, spreading out in the small space between the couple's legs.

 _What a happy little family_ , Connor thinks, only realizing he said it out loud when Kevin hums in agreement.

‘You just called them our kids, kinda,’ he teases.

‘Oh, shush, you.’

‘Just pointing it out.’

And doesn’t he love it. But at some point, Kevin gets restless and pretty much orders Connor to shower and get dressed.

‘Why so urgent?’

‘I’ve got a surprise, so chop chop chop!’

So Connor does as told, with a playful eyeroll and only after he’s stolen a kiss. Or two. Or a mini, five-minute make-out session, because it’s a Thursday, and Kevin’s home, and they don’t get to do this often enough. Just be, and kiss, on a lazy morning.

‘Are we leaving the house?’

‘We most certainly are, Mr McKinley, so wrap up warm, but also a little bit fancier than jeans and a hoodie. And just to warn you, we’ve had a good seven inches of snow.’

A sigh. It’s not that Connor doesn’t like winter, but it’s cold. And he’s a redhead. A _mutant_.

A mutant who was gifted with a fantastic head of red hair, but in exchange also got a sensitivity to cold temperatures.

In the end, he settles on a pair of dark jeans - over an old pair of ballet tights, because he knows Kevin and there’s always the chance he’ll be taken on a walk around Central Park - paired with a white shirt and a cozy, dark-green jumper and a pair of dark brown leather boots, complete with sheepskin lining. And his duffle coat. And a beanie. And gloves. And the big scarf Kevin’s grandma made; she made a matching one for Kevin, and Connor thinks they look _ridiculously_ adorable when they wear it together.

Kevin looks immensely pleased when he catches sight of him.

‘You’re too adorable for a 27-year-old rising Broadway star.’

Before Connor has the chance to shoot back a witty quip, Kevin has grasped his hand and they’re on their way.

They chat about everything and nothing, about the illness taking hold of Connor’s cast members (‘I swear, a few more and we’ll have all understudies and swings on, and still work a reduced ensemble and I'll probably be Burr and the King, or something.’) and about the gossip in Kevin’s newsroom (‘So, apparently Nikki and Maryan are having an affair…’ ‘No! She’s cheating on her girlfriend?’ ‘Yeah… and she’s pregnant, too.’ ‘Oh, whoops.’).

It seems Kevin really just planned for them to walk through the city - down Broadway, up Broadway, stop at the Time Square for a ridiculously adorable selfie surrounded by snow and through Central Park.

They spend a little time playing in the snow, making snow angels and chasing each other around Sheep’s Meadow as if they weren’t supposed to be grown-ups.

Until they somehow end up at the Lincoln Center, and Kevin reveals he got tickets for the public dress rehearsal of Swan Lake.

‘I wanted to get tickets for a matinee, but I was too slow… I know you love it, though, so I thought I’d take you along today. It’s not quite the same, but, you know… it’ll still be nice, I’m sure.’

Oh, Kevin. Thoughtful, wonderful, sweet Kevin, who’s so far from ambitious, egocentric Elder Price at times, Connor could believe they were two entirely different people.

They kiss, and Kevin takes another picture of them at the same time, and Connor shares it on his Instagram because this is what luck must feel like. He's still surprised by the number of likes he suddenly tends to get, and the comments are mildly disturbing at times, but he's happy and wants to show it off, a little. 

Afterwards, Kevin whisks his ginger companion down a side street and into a small, but surprisingly fancy, restaurant. It’s all pristinely white, starched tablecloths, French-sounding dishes and a quiet, intimate atmosphere.

That’s when Connor grows really suspicious. He swallows the thought down for a bit, wracks his brain about the occasion he may have missed, but finally can’t hold on anymore and decides to just go for it.

‘Kevin, did I forget something?’

‘No.’

His face open and honest, and most importantly, relaxed, it’s obvious Kevin isn’t masking the truth or fending off questions. He’s not out to make a scene - not that he ever would, in public - which is a relief.

‘Oh, okay.’

Lunch is nice,

At least until the next thought takes hold of Connor’s brain, and he feels like his stomach just dropped down to his knees.

‘…have you cheated on me?’

‘What? Oh, gosh, no, no!’

Kevin's squeaky rebuttal prompts the guests on the table next to their to tut disapprovingly. Kevin gets the message and lowers his voice.

‘Oh my gosh, no,’ he repeats. A beat.

‘What would make you think such a thing?’

That’s a good question if Connor has ever seen one - and he’s been asked a few since signing on as King George III.

‘All this, I mean… don’t get me wrong, I love it, and I love you, but…’

But. But. But what? How to word this senstiviely? Connor doesn’t really think Kevin would cheat on him, but he still wants to word it carefully - it’s potentially hurtful for both of them, after all.

’It all seems a little… apologetic? I mean, it could be anything else, but cheating is just what came to mind first.’

‘Oh, it’s so not,’ Kevin says, sounding a little offended before his face softens and his voice takes on a teasing note.

‘You’re watching too many movies.’

‘Well, you’re watching them with me, so… who’s laughing now?’

Kevin rolls his eyes. It’s a habit he definitely picked up from Connor, and it’s something the redhead finds adorable and just a little bit sexy.

At least until Kevin decided to be mean.

‘Just for that, you’ll have to wait until we’ve had dessert.’

The next minutes pass very, very slowly, no matter how delicious their food is. Because, and Kevin knows this too well, Connor is curious. Very, very curious. Some would say nosey, but it all ends the same way: being made to wait like this means he’s getting fidgety.

Kevin notices, of course he does, and after undoubtedly drawing it out far longer than necessary, he seems to take mercy. He settles the bill without letting Connor see, tips the waiter and then not just helps his husband into his anti-winter armour, but also galantly holds the door for him.

Mrs Price definitely raised her children well.

‘Sooo, what is it then?’

Connor lasted until the big rocks in Central Park, which is impressive enough already. He also only complained about the biting cold twice, which is even more impressive in his mind.

Kevin walks on for a bit, their joined hands swinging between the couple, before he stops and turns to Connor.

‘Well… don’t laugh, okay?’

The redhead just nods, anxiously waiting for the revelation. Because as far as his overactive imagination is concerned, Kevin could still dump him, divorce him and then move away, taking Elphie and Shakespeare… enough, Connor. Don’t be silly.

‘But it’s Kiss a Ginger Day, and I thought… I kiss a ginger every day, so that’s nothing special. But I still thought you should be spoilt a bit, given there's an international holiday for you.’

Oh, gosh. It’s even sweeter than Connor imagined, and suddenly he feels plenty warm.

‘Aaaaaw,’ is all he can say, taking Kevin’s other hand and pulls him into a hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

‘You’re such a dork, Kevin, but thank you.’

’So you like it?’

‘Are you kidding? I loved it. Every minute. This is genuinely… I love you, Kevin. I do. But you still have a job to do.’

This time it’s Kevin who raises an eyebrow.

‘Is that so?’

‘Well, it’s Kiss A Ginger Day, apparently, and since I didn’t know until a minute ago…’

It’s surprisingly hard to finish a sentence when someone is kissing you, Connor finds. But somehow, given it’s Kevin, he doesn’t mind, and instead just melts into it.

Life's pretty perfect, after all. Even if your husband sometimes forget to switch off his alarm. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was shamelessly self-indulgent, but I had the urge to write something ridiculously fluffy. I hope you liked it! :)
> 
> And yes, the mutation for red hair does make people more sensitive to cold temperatures. Not just that - redheads also need less painkillers and more anaesthetics when they're having surgeries (I think up to 20% more, if I remember correctly!)... just as a fun fact.


End file.
